


Fake It Till You Make It

by Sarah_M



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Humor, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 18:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15691362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_M/pseuds/Sarah_M
Summary: Sam watches him propped up in the infirmary bed, right arm secured in a sling, while he struggles tirelessly to rip open the little tubes of sugar and the poorly designed paper teabag packet with his left hand and teeth.“Colonel,” she greets him warmly, “I’d ask if you need a hand, but I can already see that you do.”





	Fake It Till You Make It

**Author's Note:**

> Well, they say you should write what you know... and this I currently know. I'll be sticking to short one shots in the immediate future. Thanks for the well wishes!
> 
> Beta - as always, you rock my socks (or my compression stockings).

Sam watches him propped up in the infirmary bed, right arm secured in a sling, while he struggles tirelessly to rip open the little tubes of sugar and the poorly designed paper teabag packet with his left hand and teeth.

“Colonel,” she greets him warmly, “I’d ask if you need a hand, but I can already see that you do.”

“Carter. Thank God you’re here. If I have to mangle one more little milk container, I swear I’m going to completely lose it.” He groans, immediately relenting and throwing the ingredients for a basic cup of tea back onto the tray-table in front of him.

“It’s okay sir - I’m happy to help.”

“Of course you are,” he says admirably, watching her as she effortlessly finishes what he started with her two fully functional hands.

“How’s the arm?” she asks, handing him the plastic mug - contents presumably lukewarm by now.

“Still broken in four places. Though the plate and screws help tremendously; attached beats unattached any day.”

“On the plus side sir - at least I didn’t have to splint it for you.”

“There is that…”

One of the nurses places a tray of dinner in front of him; she’s never seen him look at something inanimate with such deep distain before.

“Colonel?”

“If I lift that lid… and it’s a _whole_ petty-excuse-for-a-steak which requires both a knife _and_ a fork… heads will roll.”

She looks hesitantly between him and the tray of food, before lifting the lid up slightly to peek inside, then sets it back down again. “What if it’s a _whole_ chicken leg? Would that have the same result? And whose head specifically would we be talking about? It’s not a proximity based thing is it?”

Jack groans again. “I can’t cut anything. This is ridiculous. Someone is punishing me.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case sir.” Although, with the annoyance he causes half the time he’s in here, there’s actually a pretty good chance this _is_ intentional.

“You don’t have to say yes, but I am here... I could cut this up into more manageable pieces for you?”

He looks at her with an expression of deep relief and gratitude. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” she says almost bashful. She sets to work reshuffling his tray into something that makes more logical sense for a person who can only use their non-dominate arm, and then starts cutting the chicken up for him. She can feel him watching her, studying her; it makes her feel a little uneasy. “You okay?”

He snaps out of his reverie and gives her a nod.

That’s when she spots nurse Anders working on the other side of the infirmary and she becomes instantly suspicious. Many of the men on the base secretly - and some not-so-secretly - lust after her. She knows this. She knows that he knows this.

“Sir, I came past yesterday - but had to leave before I could say hello - and I must say, I thought you were getting by okay…”

“Really?”

“Yeah… and now that I’m seeing the beautiful nurse Anders is on call tonight…”

“Nurse Anders?” he frowns looking around the infirmary.

“Oh please,” she admonishes, “Don’t act like you don’t know. Are you hamming this up so she’ll come help you with your dinner?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Come on. If our roles were reversed - I _might_ consider clumsy hands for some extra attention.”

“Carter, I am shocked at you.”

She gives him a genuine smile and laugh. “I can stop if you want. You can press your call button and see if she’ll come help you.”

“I really can’t believe you think I’d do that.”                                                                     

She continues to give him a disbelieving look.

Janet appears holding his medical file and interrupts them. “Can’t believe you’d do what?”

“I think I’m onto something.”

Janet glances at his perfectly cut up meal. “Oh _that_. I thought you would have cottoned on days ago. How long does it take to notice that every time _you_ visit, his left hand skills take a downwards trend?” She raises her eyebrows at him disapprovingly.

Seemingly determined to avoid both women’s gaze, he presses his lips together to smother his smirk - trying to appear as innocent as practically possible.

“You can have more Oxycodone if you want Colonel?” Janet supplies a change in subject, clearly not the slightest bit guilty for outing him.

“Yes. Please. Lots.”

She obliges and Sam watches him relax back into his pillows at the immediate warm rush he gets from the injection into his cannula. Then Janet steps away and yanks the curtain half closed behind her; effectively screening them from most of the infirmary staff.

“Me?” She sounds genuinely surprised, staring at him with her mouth slack.

He turns to her, eyes a little glassy and a dopey grin on his face. “What? Can you blame a guy for trying?”

“You’re faking it so I will feed you and make your coffee?”

“It’s tea. And don’t make it sound like a sexist thing, Carter. It’s _so not_ that. Also, it’s not faking if your arm really is broken - and mine _really is broken._ ”

She shakes her head at him, unable to contain the smile that’s playing over her lips.

He pats the side of his bed with his good hand and raises an eyebrow at her in question. Obviously he’s trying to see if despite being caught out, she’ll still entertain his behaviour.

“You’re high,” she says plainly, still amused and not budging.

“Yes. I am. I couldn’t think of a more perfect excuse for my mouth getting carried away with me. Can you?”

She obliges and sits down in the limited space next to him, watching his deep brown eyes become impossibly doughier. “ _Is_ your mouth going to get carried away with you?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m sure that’s the morphine talking.”

“It’s really not.”

He looks so perfectly boyish right now - playful and charming. She imagines he’s this relaxed most of the time in his personal life - narcotics aside.

“Do you want me to feed you?”

“God yes.”

How does he make this sound sexy? It’s not supposed to be sexy. “You’re terrible. Shouldn’t you hate being coddled?”

“Not by you.” He watches her fork up some chicken and offer it to him.

This feels so ridiculous. Luckily she can _sort of_ explain this away if someone sees them - thanks to him. And maybe Janet.

“I’d do this for you, you know,” he admits softly, still smiling at her.

“What, fuss over me?”

“Take care of you,” he clarifies.

It doesn’t escape her attention that his fingers are very gently and cautiously skimming her over hers between them.

“I know you would.” She lets her fingers tangle with his.

It’s been ages since they’ve shared any kind of moment and she wonders if this is meant to be a reminder that he still has feelings for her. It hits her hard. They spend a lot of timing tramping the feelings down, so it’s odd to see him being so open with her. She wonders what about this particular injury triggered this - if anything at all. Of course, she’ll blame the drugs - he probably will too. Although, she knows chances are they’re not going to talk about this a week from now.

“What else would you do for me?” she asks, finally allowing herself the indulgence.

“I’d make you breakfast… make you coffee… make you com-”

Squeezing his hand, she cuts him off. “Slow down flyboy.”

“I was going to say, _make you comfortable_ ,” he grins madly, “But sure, that too.”

“Oh.” That’s embarrassing.

“ _Oh_ ,” he parrots, still amused. “I know you want to get into my pants Sam but let’s stick with dinner; at least for now.”

 _So_ damn embarrassing. “Just to be clear this doesn’t count as us having dinner; this is me feeding you dinner.”

“Yeah. I know. Thanks Carter.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Discreetly she keeps tangling their fingers together and takes her time to help him finish his meal. Even though she knows full well he doesn’t need the help. He just wants the attention - her attention.

And she _really_ likes that.

 


End file.
